Annabelle Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
by HazardlyAnne
Summary: Annabelle Potter was a perfectly normal...wait, scratch that...Annabelle Potter was a WITCH! Rated M for future content. (Off of Hiatus and back in action!)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Firstly, **I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING**! Secondly, This Chapter is pretty much word for word, chapter two is when all the real fireworks begin.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

**The Girl Who Lived**

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><p>Number Four, Privet Drive was the last place you would expect anything exciting or unusual to happen. Mostly, this was because of the fact that the occupants simply didn't hold with all that nonsense, but the other reason was that they simply had no real reason for anything strange to happen at all.<p>

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills for the big industrial sorts. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors.

The Dursley's had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be.

As it was, when Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday that our story starts, there was nothing to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. The happy couple proceeded as usual, Mr. Dursley walking out the door armed with his most boring tie and his gossipy wife leering across the fence at the neighbor's lawn. Neither one noticed the large, tawny owl flutter by, not that they had any reason to suspect an owl in the first place. So Mr. Dursley backed out of the drive without further ado, whistling a cheery tune as he started off for another long day of selling drill bits.

It didn't take long, however, for the perfectly normal Mr. Dursley to notice something not quite right about his cheerful Tuesday morning. In fact, the chipper tune he had whistled turned to a choking sputter as he pulled to the corner and spotted the strangest sight he had ever seen in his incredibly dull life. A cat that was quite clearly reading a map.

"What in the bloody hell? Impossible. I must be seeing things."

And with a quick shake of his head he sped off, absolutely refusing to look back at the extraordinary tabby cat now making its way down the sidewalk of Little Whinging. Unfortunately for Mr. Dursley, his day was only bound to get a little stranger the further he proceeded. On the edge of town, any thought of his daily orders were driven out of his mind by something else.

As he sat in the morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. On any other day, Mr. Dursley might have put it off as some silly stunt, or even a show to raise funds for some oddball cause he hadn't heard of, but today it sent a wave of unease through his rather round belly.

"Just your imagination Dursley, get it together now. We don't buy into that lot of rubbish." Muttering darkly to no one in particular, Mr. Dursley firmly averted his gaze to the car ahead of him and forced himself to think about something, _anything_, but the oddly dressed people. A few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot with his mind still fixed on cloaks and cats.

Perhaps it was this reason that Mr. Dursley sat facing the window this day. Usually, he sat with his back facing his office on the ninth floor. If he had, he might have not noticed the owls swooping past in broad daylight earning open mouthed stares and pointed fingers from the passerby's down below. Yet he did see them, and it happened the final straw for poor Mr. Dursley.

"Owls! Bloody owls! Absolute rubbish, I say! First that damned cat, then those- those freaks! Now OWLS? What next?" Mr. Dursley all but ran out of his office, ignoring the shocked looks of his underlings as he stormed towards the exit with his face turning a rather spectacular shade of purple.

It was in this manner, as Mr. Dursley stomped to his car, that Mr. Dursley overheard the topper to his increasingly trying day. "Did you hear? You-Know-Who is dead! Little Annabelle Potter killed the slimy git!" Potter. Mr. Dursley came to a sudden stop, his beady little eyes snapping away from polished shoes to a pair of young men dressed up in cloaks and weird looking robes.

"My mum found out this morning. She was a friend of Lily Potter, you know, it's a shame that her and her husband James died. Think of it, that poor girl growing up all alone." The younger of the two, a boy with a shock of stunning red hair and a spattering of freckles spoke, not even noticing Mr. Dursley going from purple to sheet white in the parking lot.

"I heard about that too, Bill. Dad overheard Dumbledore talking with the Minister about the Potter girl, he thinks Dumbledore is sending her off to _muggles_ of all the people. Some relatives if he heard right." The latter, only a year or two older than the first, spat out with a clear look of distaste.

Whatever else the two strange boys may have said went unheard as Mr. Dursley scrambled into his waiting car and shot off out of the parking lot with a single, horrifying thought spurring his flight. _Potters._

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><p><em>Later that evening….<em>

Outside of Number Four, the strange little tabby cat sat still as a statue with its unblinking eyes fixed intently on the Dursley house. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appearing so suddenly and silently you would have thought he had simply popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. What the residents of Privet Drive didn't know was that this man was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived on a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

After a few more moments of rummaging, Albus pulled what seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter from his pocket. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. Twelve more times he clicked, and twelve more lights flickered into darkness until only the lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off towards Number Four where the little tabby cat still glared from its perch on a wall.

"Fancy seeing you here, Minerva."

He turned to look at the cat, but it was suddenly gone. Instead, Dumbledore was smiling at a rather severe looking woman with square spectacles set low on her nose exactly where the pale markings around the cat's eyes had been. She too was wearing a cloak, yet hers was a deep emerald. Her black hair was drawn up into a tight bun, and the look on her face gave the distinct impression that she was ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor McGonagall, I have never seen a cat sit so stiffly." A faint hint of amusement crinkled the corners of Dumbledore's eyes, earning an instant scowl from the woman.

"You would be stiff if you had been sitting on a brick wall all day." She snapped. Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and continued. "Is it true what they're saying? That last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow…and that Lily and James Potter are-are…that they're…"

Dumbledore bowed his head.

"If that's true, then Annabelle…Surely you can't mean to leave her _here_ of all the places!" McGonagall had jumped to her feet on a soft gasp.

Neither of them seemed to notice the soft yellow glow of lamp flaring to life behind the curtain of Number Four, or the soft creak of the door as Dumbledore sighed. He opened his mouth to speak, oblivious to the thin woman slowly making her way across the postage stamp lawn in her slippers.

"Where is she?" Mrs. Dursley's shrill voice cut through whatever Dumbledore had intended to say. He turned sharply, his twinkling blue eyes widening slightly when he spotted her. He gave her a polite nod that only served to make Mrs. Dursley sour expression worsen. "Petunia, it's a pleasure to see you again." He greeted.

Mrs. Dursley sniffed somewhat rudely and twisted her overly long neck this way and that looking for something that was obviously not there. A low rumbling sound broke the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as all three looked up to the sky – and an enormous motorcycle came thundering out of it to land with a screech in front of them. Mrs. Dursley let out a frightened squeal, but Dumbledore merely smiled at the newcomer.

If the motorcycle was enormous, it was nothing compared to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and easily five times as wide. Long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid all but a pair of shiny, dark eyes and cold reddened nose. The giant of a man had hands the size of trash can lids, and tucked into one was a small, quivering bundle of pastel pink blankets.

And just barely peeking out of said blankets, an even smaller baby girl was just visible, her vibrant green eyes peering curiously up at the sky. Underneath a tuft of red hair still bright with youth, a curiously shaped scar cut jaggedly across the girl's forehead.

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><p><strong>END AN: **I know, it's really rough. Rate and review please!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **We're getting a bit more original now as we work our way into the story. Please review!

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

**The Little Piggy**

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><p>In the nearly ten years it had been since Mrs. Dursley had rescued her niece from a particularly hairy giant of a man, it had become quite normal for the residents of Number Four, Privet Drive to be awakened by a horrendous racket. Whether it be the thunder of footsteps or the sound of girlish giggles, there was <em>always<em> some noise rousting them from bed promptly at seven every morning. So it was on this particular Sunday morn, at precisely seven fifteen, that Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke feeling awfully suspicious of their unusually quiet home. It was so quiet that if not for the dozens of pictures pinned neatly to the wall, no one would have ever suspected that a ten year old girl lived in the house at all.

However, Annabelle Potter did live there, and she was wide awake in the larger of the two upstairs bedrooms with an ear pressed up against the door. Of course Mrs. Dursley never saw the mischievous grin on little Anna's heart shaped face before she trooped down to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, nor did she notice the slight smudge of pink marring the shine of her sink. In fact, no one noticed anything at all until the coffee had been poured and Mrs. Dursley happened to glance out of the kitchen window.

"ANNABELLE ROSE POTTER! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!" Up above, the silly grin Anna Potter wore only grew wider at the sound of Petunia Dursley's shrilly shriek.

"Now!" The screech sent the girl hurrying down the stairs in a whirl of scarlet plaits and pressed skirts the color of spring grass.

Anna came to sliding halt just inside the kitchen where her aunt was waiting, still wearing a bright smile. "You called, Aunt Petunia?" She ignored the slight narrowing of her aunt's eyes and simply waited until the woman pointed a bony finger stiffly towards the window. She, of course, already knew what was outside seeing as she had spent quite an awful lot of time in the still dark hours doing it in the first place. "Is there something wrong with the lawn, Aunt Petunia?" She asked innocently.

"Something wrong with it? It-it-it's _blue_!" Her aunt's voice was steadily reaching octaves Anna hadn't thought humanly possible. For a moment, Anna feigned a look of shock, standing up on her toes to peer out at the lawn that was currently only a shade or two off from the sunny July sky.

"Why, it _is_ blue isn't it?" It took a supreme amount of effort to say the words with a straight face. Her aunt, however, seemed entirely unamused. Her long neck straightened, making it look even longer, and her spine stiffened even more than usual, but whatever tirade was about to begin was stopped short by an equally furious Uncle Vernon.

The short, rather rotund man slammed the front door hard enough to rattle a picture loose off of the wall. "Every lawn, Petunia! Every. Single. Lawn. All up and down the block! The neighbors are having a right laugh! And…_YOU_!" Her uncle had finally rounded the kitchen entrance. He pointed a fat finger in her direction, his face turning a splotchy shade of purple. "You are getting too old to be making rainbows out of the neighborhood. Young ladies don't tromp around the neighborhood looking for trouble like common riff-raff! Looks alone won't catch you a decent husband, I don't even think that boy Simon will stick around much longer at this rate. I'm surprised he's even thought to invite you to his birthday party with this behavior." He snapped.

"I'd rather catch a crocodile than Simon Grunnings." Before her uncle could scold her for her comment, Anna turned on her heel and ran out of the kitchen, absolutely furious with herself for forgetting that today was _that_ day. The day that she had to suffer through an entire weekend afternoon and evening with that horrible boy from school. And no amount of pranks, arguing, or pleading would sway the Dursley's into keeping her home since that boy was the son of a very important man in Mr. Dursley's company.

Perhaps it was the fact that Annabelle was beginning to develop into a "young lady" as the Dursley's were fond of saying, but whatever the reason, they had become incredibly interested in her love life as of late. Unfortunately, it seemed that they had decided that the Grunnings boy would be a perfect match for her, and even worse, _his _parents seemed to think so too. Neither the Dursley's nor the Grunnings' seemed to care about the obvious fact that Annabelle and Simon absolutely loathed each other.

Anna reached the top of the stairs and turned into her bedroom, muttering under her breath the entire way to her bedroom where she slammed the door with enough force to rival Mr. Dursley's entrance. She ignored the sharp reprimand that followed on her heels and flopped onto her bed with dejected sigh. It wasn't long before she rolled onto her back to stare at the powder colored ceiling, her thoughts drifting back to the source of her ever worsening mood.

"I hate him. It's not even fair that I have to go in the first place, he didn't even really invite me. His parents did!" She grumbled. Of course, it didn't matter how much she grumbled, she was still going if Petunia Dursley had anything to say about it. And it was only ten minutes later that the horse faced woman came snapping up the stairs to herd her niece out of bed to get ready for the party.

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><p>In all of the time that Annabelle Potter had lived in Number Four, very little had changed about Privet Drive. Tidy front gardens still dotted the street and the brass numbers on the doors were still polished to a shine; if it weren't for the brilliantly colored lawns of pink, purple, blue, and red, it would have been hard to tell any time had passed at all. It was quite odd watching the residents filter out of their homes that day, so strange that no one who went outside thought to look up at the sky that day. If they had, they may have seen the large, tawny owl swoop down out of the sky to the empty home of Number Four and neatly deposit a thick letter into the mail slot with the rest of the post.<p>

As it was, not even the Dursley's themselves noticed the strange owl as they had already left not an hour before with a sulking Anna in tow. As a matter of fact, they had already arrived at their destination and both the Dursley's and their pouting charge were far too busy to be worried about such nonsense as post delivering owls. Although it was quite safe to say that Annabelle Potter would have gladly taken that oddity over anything to do with the short, pudgy boy that had taken to yanking on her hair by the ends of her plaits. The very same boy that had put her in such a sour mood in the first place.

Simon Grunnings was, by all means, one of the most spoilt rotten boys in all of Surrey. His family owned and operated the company that sold drill bits where Mr. Dursley worked, and he was the sole heir to a very large bit of money. He was used to getting everything he wanted when he wanted it, and being such had grown very large around the middle from the sweets and cakes he ate by the pound. If it wasn't the best, it simply wouldn't do for the Grunnings darling boy, whether it be his tailored outfits he only ever wore once or his top of the line toys he played with for a day before tossing into his spare room to be forgotten. Unfortunately, it was this very attitude that had left Anna on the receiving end of the boy's rotten nature.

You see, Simon Grunnings _did_ fancy Miss Annabelle Potter, very much in fact, but she would have nothing to do with him and told him so in front of the entire schoolyard in their first year together. Ever since the two had been at odds, Simon going out of his way to harass Anna, and Anna bluntly ignoring him which made it all the worse. Luckily today, Simon was too excited about his trip into London to pay her much attention save for the occasional nasty comment or pinch when the adults weren't too close. His parents had been generous enough to give all of the children a bit of pocket money and had sent them off down a shop lined street to buy odds and ends while the adults enjoyed a cup of tea at a small pastry house.

Simon had shot off like a bolt with his friends to squash his upturned nose up against the dusty glass of every shop on the street, leaving Anna alone for the most part to wander about. She moved along slowly, the soles of her polished flats clicking along the pavement in any easy rhythm until she came across a cheerful little ice cream parlor painted gold and red. She nipped inside and spent a good amount of time looking at all of the flavors before deciding on a double scoop of vanilla and strawberry and settling down on a chair next to the street window.

Besides the Grunnings and Simon's snobby friends, there were surprisingly few people out and about that actually seemed to be customers. For the most part, the only people out were the shopkeepers that had were filtering back into their stores for lunch and switching letters on their signs. One rather oddly dressed dealer was wrestling what looked like large, gilded birdcages into the front of what must have been a pet shop of some sort. The peculiar set of deep blue robes the man was wearing seemed to be no help at all as they kept catching on his foot and nearly tripping him every time he hopped up the step to put another cage inside the door.

It took him a good fifteen minutes before the brown haired man was finally struggling to get the last cage up the step. It was nearly as tall he was, and judging by his purpling expression as he tried to lift it, it was probably rather heavy as well. Anna was nearly finished with her ice cream when the man's ridiculous robe snagged on the doorknob and a brown leather pouch fell out of his pocket onto the step behind him. She paused, bright green eyes fixed intently on the man wondering if he had even noticed what had happened.

Yet after several long beats the man shoved the cage into the door with a loud curse and slammed it shut without even glancing at it. Anna quickly pushed away from the little table where she had been sitting and hurried out of the door towards the pet shop. She shot a quick glance at the street to make sure that there were no cars coming and ran across to snatch up the pouch before someone else could steal it and pushed the heavy wooden door to the store open.

"Hello? Sir? You dropped your…umm…coin purse? Are you here?" Anna looked carefully around the shop, squealing in surprise when she turned to find herself nose to beak with a gigantic black owl perched on a brass stand. The owl gave an indignant hoot at the noise, two enormous amber eyes blinking at her in clear irritation. "Sorry, I didn't see you there. Do you know where the shopkeeper is?" She asked somewhat tentatively. The owl stared at her for a moment as if debating her question, and then with a click of its beak it took off and vanished into the recesses of the shop.

And what a strange sort of pet shop it was, not even remotely like the ones she had seen before. The last time she had ever been in a pet store it had been filled with kittens and puppies and fluffy little gerbils and the like, and the only thing close to that here was a row of cats in the corner. Instead of goldfish and button nosed bunnies, this store was filled with owls and brightly colored toads and lizards with two heads. She could have sworn she even saw a case of large black rats playing skip rope with their tails near the old oak counter. One of the glass cases along the nearest wall caught her eye, and before she thought about what she was doing, her curiosity had her wandering up to the edge of the case to take a peek.

At first she didn't see anything but a bunch of twigs and a rock piled on top of warm dirt, but as she was about to turn away a flash of white near a shallow pool of water brought her attention back. She gasped when she spotted it, a pale white snake with a faint rainbow shimmer to its scales when the light caught it. "Oh, you're a beauty aren't you? I've never seen such pretty scales." As if the snake could understand, it slowly opened one brilliant lavender eye and slowly unfolded its coils in such a way that the shimmering intensified tenfold.

Anna gasped, her eyes growing to the size of saucers. "You _are_ beautiful. It's such a shame you have to spend your time in here, you would look even more amazing in the sun I bet you." If a snake could look smug, this one certainly did, lifting its angular head rather high to peer at the girl on the other side of the glass. And then, to her utter shock, the snake winked at her and did the most amazing thing that Anna had ever witnessed. It spoke.

_"You are one I like, little Sspeaker. What iss your name?"_ Anna's jaw nearly hit the floor. A snake that could _talk_? She had never seen one before, at least not up close, so who knew? Maybe all snakes could speak. Either way, her aunt had always said it was rude not to answer a direct question.

"My name is Annabelle, Annabelle Rose Potter. What's yours?" The snake cocked its head to the side, a forked tongue briefly flicking out to taste the air.

_"I do not have a name Sspeaker."_ It hissed.

"Oh, well that's no good, everyone needs a name. Something beautiful like your scales…Oh! I know, how about Isis? That's the name of an Egyptian goddess, she was beautiful too if her paintings are any clue." She was taking a wild guess at the snake's gender, but it didn't seem angry that she had picked a female name. In fact, it seemed rather pleased by the title if anything. Anna's guess was proven right the snake nodded its head in approval.

"Fantastic! Isis, would you mind very much if I picked you up?" Truth be told her fingers had been itching to touch her since she had first spied the glimmer of her scales. Isis stretched upwards towards the open top of her case in answer, sliding right over the edge and dropping gracefully onto her arm. As Isis slid her way up Anna's thin shoulder, a familiar hoot sounded from a nearby shelf.

She tore her eyes away from the fascinating movement of her newfound friend only a start a little in surprise when she realized that not only the enormous owl had returned, but so had its owner. A hot flush crept up her collar, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable being caught handling an animal she didn't own without permission. The shopkeeper's eyebrow inched ever so slowly up towards his hairline, obviously waiting for her to explain herself.

"I…um…I found this…outside…on the step…" She lifted up the leather pouch with the drawstring cord she had picked off of the doorstep. The man's face didn't so much as twitch as he glanced down at the pouch, and then looked back up to stare quite pointedly at the thin scar on her forehead. After what felt like an hour, the man carefully picked the pouch up to be deposited back into his pocket and gave her the strangest look. Anna looked at Isis, feeling rather awkward about the entire situation. "I had better go. Maybe my aunt will bring me back to visit you sometime if you haven't a found a new home yet."

She started to lift the snake off of her shoulder when the blue robed man suddenly snapped back to life. "Oh no, Miss Potter. I do believe that your friend here would much rather go home with you. Think of it as a reward for saving me all that coin just a moment ago. Here, take this. Everything you'll need is inside." He reached into a shelf and pulled down a small, white box wrapped in string and shoved it into her hands. Before she could so much as utter a dumbfounded thank you, he was pushing her towards the door with that odd look still firmly fixed on his face. Before she knew it, he had herded her back outside and was watching her walk towards the tea shop where the Dursley's still waited.

Perhaps it was the shock of the strange events that had just occurred, but for whatever reason, Anna never saw Simon Grunnings hurrying up behind her as she started across the street. All she knew was that one moment she was walking and the next Simon had shoved her hard with his shoulder, throwing her straight into a puddle on the edge of the street. Annabelle sat frozen for a full beat, as Simon and his friends burst into laughter. She took a deep shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, then let out a thunderous roar that would have made Uncle Vernon proud.

"Simon you-you FAT LITTLE PIG!" There was a roaring sensation in her ears that was nearly as deafening as her own shriek, followed by a faint _pop_, and it was then that sound of laughter turned into pig like squeals. And when she opened her eyes, the six boys who had been laughing were squealing in horror, all of them gawping at their brand new sets of bright pink piggy ears and curly little piggy tails.

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><p><strong>END AN: **As you might be able to tell, Annabelle's path to Hogwarts is quite a bit different from Harry's. Tell me what you think of it so far.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Finally back! I know, it's been forever, but now my computer works again and I'm ready to roll! WOOT!

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

**Of Muggles And Magic**

Deep in the heart of London on a quiet, unkempt street, the evening was settling over the still buildings like a thick, cozy blanket. The very shops themselves seemed to be heaving heavy sighs of goodnight, their windows shuttered and their doors locked tight. If not for the shrill shrieks of trains rattling across the nearby track, it would have appeared that the dusty rows of lopsided stores had simply fallen asleep to the dim glow of the streetlamps. And so it was quite strange to imagine that anyone would be walking over the crooked sidewalk at such an hour, and yet Annabelle Potter found herself doing just that; wandering about, with very little idea of just where she was.

In fact, she hadn't known where she was for several hours now, though it wasn't _entirely_ her fault. She _had_ asked for directions, but every time she had stopped a stranger they had taken one look at the rather large serpent hissing on her shoulder and made quite a scene hurrying away before she could get a decent answer. Of course she had been the one to get herself lost by running off in the first place. But in her mind it was rather reasonable - after six boys sprouted tails before her eyes.

_"Oh, this is a right mess I've gotten into this time. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia will be furious when I get home. _If _I get home." _Annabelle mumbled. _"I'm cold, I'm hungry, and I want to go home." _Home sounded plenty nice after the dreadful day she had been having, and the higher the moon climbed, the more she found herself wishing for a hot dinner and her warm bedsheets. Her only friend in the whole affair gave a sympathetic hiss and coiled tighter around Annabelle's narrow arm. She let out a thin sigh, the constant click of her not-so-polished-anymore shoes slowing to a stop near a bent lamppost that looked as if it had been run over.

She glanced up at a lonely sign creaking above her head, watching the battered wood rock back and forth in the breeze while she slowly read the name 'The Leaky Cauldron' stamped onto its face. The name didn't bring any ideas as to where she could possibly be, so with another sigh she plopped down on the pavement with her box in her lap and a line of tears forming on her cheeks. This was _not_ how the day was supposed to have gone.

_"I want to go home!"_ The words slipped out on a miserable wail. _"My feet hurt and my stomach hurts and my toes hurt and-and-and I don't like this one bit. And it's all because of that stupid git Simon Grunnings and his stupid birthday party and his stupid friends pulling on my hair!"_ Annabelle was so absorbed in cursing her day she didn't notice the door behind creak open and a tall, lean man step out wearing a slight frown. It wasn't until the keen eyes of her snake friend spotted the intruder that she noticed anything at all besides her own sore legs and cold fingers.

_"You could asssk that one for directionsss." _Isis' quiet hiss brought the girl's cries to a hiccupping sniffle. Enormous green eyes followed the line of her friend's sight to the stranger who still stood unmoving from his spot by the door. The man's gaze moved to the snake, then back to the girl with the same strange look that the shopkeeper from the morning had worn and for a long while, neither of them spoke. However, after a few brief moments, the red headed man shook his head and fixed a stern expression on her that vaguely reminded her of her Aunt Petunia.

"Annabelle Potter, what on earth do you think you're doing out here all alone at this hour?" A sudden bolt of fear shot down her spine wondering just how the man knew her name. Had she been on the news? Or was she in more trouble than she thought and everyone now knew about Simon Grunnings? "Do you have any idea how much trouble you'll be in when the Ministry gets a hold of you? I can only imagine that they're having fits as we speak!" The Ministry? Her eyes puffed up and her bottom lip wobbled and she promptly burst into tears all over again.

"I-I-I'm _sorry_! I didn't m-mean to! I don't even know _how_ I did it, really! He pushed me and I called h-him a pig and then… He was a pig! I-I'm really, really sorry! I won't do it a-again! I promise! I just want to go home!" Annabelle blubbered on. The stranger looked to be at a loss, clearly not expecting this reaction. He ran a hand through his bright red hair and sighed, looking back at the door before moving a bit closer and hunkering down next to her.

"Oh, it's alright now, don't cry. Let's get you inside and warmed up before it cools off anymore. Here, let me take this for you and you carry your…friend, and we'll go in and find a bit to eat." He picked up the little white box that had managed to stay miraculously clean (unlike its owner), and caught her elbow before she could argue. Annabelle furiously swiped at her face as he pulled her up, trying to clean off the snot and salt as best she could with little luck. "That's better now, come along. If we sit out here much longer the sun will be up before we know it."

The stranger pulled open the door, letting loose the low sounds of people chattering inside and the clink of glass on wood. For a moment, Annabelle wondered just how she could have possibly missed such noise from the outside, but she soon forgot any questions she might have had as she fully entered the Leaky Cauldron. Maybe it was because the first sight that greeted her was a large mug zooming through the air inches from her face, or perhaps it was the candles floating above the mismatched tables, but she knew that the moment she stepped inside that she had either gone mad, or was somewhere very, very different than her home at Number Four, Privet Drive. She looked up at the man that had come out to help her, her mouth hanging agape.

"It's magic!"

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><p>"An auror will be here in the afternoon to take her home, Bill, they had to charm her guardians to keep them calm after they found out she was missing from the whole pig fiasco. There'd be no point in bringing her back until it wears off."<p>

"An auror? That's a bit much for a ten year old, she just wandered off, it's not like she invaded Gringotts for Merlin's sake."

"It's for her aunt and uncle, not her. The Minister wants to make sure they haven't gone a bit off from the charms before they leave Annabelle with them. In the morning your Mum will be by with the boys and Ginny to do the shopping for school. I think it would be good for her if you took her with, besides, she'll need to get her supplies and there's no better time to do it. Shacklebolt will come and find you two when it's time for her to leave. And don't look at me like that, they are her _family_, she _has_ to go back."

"What would have happened if it had been some drunk muggle that found her, Dad? What then? Or worse, one of His supporters that's still running loose on the streets? She's a ten year old little girl that's still impressed with parlor tricks. She could have been attacked or killed or any number of things."

"And it could have very well been _any_ family that lost their little girl. With as many of you as there are, it could have very well been Ginny under the circumstances. Either way, they are her family, they do care for her, and they are worried sick about her. If the Dursleys are fully recovered, she will be going home tomorrow, and if they aren't, well, then we'll just have to keep her another day or two while the healers take a look at them. But, _she will go home_."

Tucked deep into the covers of a bed that was not her own, Annabelle listened to the conversation outside of her door with half an ear, picking aimlessly at the edges of the crisp sheets. Seated on the nightstand next to her, Isis curled around a branch in a large, dimly lit tank flicking her tongue idly in and out while the words grew more heated. They were both quiet, worn out after a long night wandering the streets of London, and neither showed any intentions of interrupting the argument that was most obviously about them - or at least about Annabelle.

"She partially transfigured six muggles into pigs, what exactly is normal about that for girls her age? Obviously there was something very wrong for her to be accidentally using magic that advanced. And worse, she's a parselmouth and doesn't even realize it. I found her hissing at that bloody snake, bawling on the corner with no idea of how bad it looked! She needs to be around other magical communities before she gets set off into Hogwarts, not trapped with a bunch of muggles after finding out she can do things they can't. As soon as she gets her wand she'll want to use it, not that she has any idea of _how_, and imagine what kind of mess that will cause. She could blow herself up or set a kettle on her neighbors or be like Fred and George and accidentally transfigure her pillow into a giant spider and set it loose in Little Surrey!" The voice of Bill Weasley, the man who had found her, rose to a volume loud enough to make both girl and snake flinch in the dark.

"I've had just about enough of this! She _is_ a little girl, Bill! A frightened little girl who _did_ just find out that she is, in fact, a witch after what must have been an incredibly traumatizing day for her. And you are suggesting that we just go off and rip her away from the only family she knows and loves because she discovered her magic in an accident? Muggleborns go through this every year, and even a good number of half-blood children as well. Do you suggest we take them away from _their_ families as well?" The owner of the other voice had lost his patience, something slamming hard enough outside to make the thin door rattle on its hinges.

Annabelle squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her hands over her ears, desperately wishing that she was somewhere downstairs where she couldn't hear them. She would have much rather have been sitting on one of the three legged bar stools watching the old barkeep and the late night customers go about their business. It would have been a thousand times more relaxing to watch beer mugs full of something called firewhiskey bob around the air threatening to spill their contents and chairs dance and flip up by themselves as customers came and went. A familiar roaring noise filled her ears the more she thought about it, but this time there was no faint _pop_. This time there was a deafening _bang_ like a car backfiring in the room and she was quite suddenly jerked into a sickening spin.

Then as suddenly as it started, it all came to a screeching stop and, instead of lying comfortably in bed, she found herself sitting up, staring in shock at the equally surprised Tom at the bar downstairs. Just like she had imagined, she was sitting on the crooked barstool with her hands still over her ears and her hair a wild mess of loose curls. Tom, of course, recovered twice as quickly as she did and set down a glass he had been holding to flash her a cheery grin.

"Guess you were still a bit hungry with all that shouting going on, eh?" He said with a wink. Annabelle blushed a deep, cherry red, her bare toes curling in embarrassment. These accidents of hers were becoming a little too frequent for comfort. Tom just chuckled, leaning back and all but roaring at the stairwell. "ARTHUR! SHE'S DOWN HERE!" Almost at once the two men, or wizards as they called themselves, came thundering down the steps with panicked looks while the barkeep disappeared into a backroom. The two wizards came to a stop a few feet away around the same time Tom reappeared with a small tray of biscuits.

"Annabelle, are you alright dear?" The owner of the unknown voice hurried a bit closer, looking over her worriedly as if to make sure all of her parts were still attached. She saw his hand disappear inside some hidden pocket in his shabby robes and assumed that must have been where he kept his wand. A moment later her suspicion was confirmed when he extracted the item in question and started muttering under his breath. "Annabelle, you gave us quite a fright, young lady. You have to be very careful, transfiguring is one thing, but Apparition can be very dangerous for a young witch like yourself. You could have very easily splinched yourself."

"You're not going to take me away from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon are you?" Both wizards paused, then the elder wizard with the thinning hair gave the younger a withering glare.

"Of course not dear, but you really must stop disappearing every time you have a bit of trouble." Tom had left again, depositing the tray next to her so she could pick at it before he went off about his business. Now she was all alone with the two that had been at odds over her since she had gone to bed. "Annabelle, you're not in trouble, you do understand that, right?" The older man asked somewhat gently.

"Bill said I was bad because I'm a parsley-mouth or something."

"He didn't mean it like that, dear. Parselmouths are witches and wizards who speak Parseltongue, or in other words, people who can talk to snakes. It's very rare to find even in the wizarding community and so there are some people, not to mention most muggles, who might not take it as well as Bill or myself if they happened across you speaking to a snake." Annabelle scowled, the freckles her nose scrunching together as she did.

"Well that's stupid. That's like being mad at someone because they speak French and you don't, it's just a language. It isn't like I can pull a word out of thin air and beat someone with it…Or at least I don't think I can." To be entirely honest, she wasn't exactly sure what was possible and what wasn't. After all, mirrors weren't supposed to talk either yet hers had been having a splendid time complaining quite loudly for half of the time she had been in the room.

"Unfortunately, not everyone thinks that way, Annabelle. But you shouldn't let that bother you." She looked down at the tray on the bar, not feeling very hungry at all.

"Will I be able to go home tomorrow?" She asked.

"I can't say yes with one hundred percent certainty, but if not tomorrow, then the day after or the next definitely. Your Aunt and Uncle were put under some very strong charms to help them calm down and it can make some people a bit strange for a while after, like a potent medicine that stays in the system too long. You shouldn't be too worried though, you'll have plenty to do in the next few days. Now then, you really should be getting off to bed, you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow." Though she wasn't very hungry, she _was_ exhausted, so it was with no complaint that she slid off the stool and started back up the stairs with the two wizards watching to make sure she got tucked in alright. Before she fully settled, she turned to look at Isis who had fallen asleep in a patch of steamy soil and whispered goodnight, hoping that tomorrow would be a much brighter day.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **The last chapter was a bit rough, I know. Every time I work on this story I get major writer's block debating on if I should write book style or my own style. Oh well, hopefully this next chap turns out less…eh.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

**The Problem with Purebloods**

"Don't pay any mind to them, Annabelle. Mum will be here soon with the boys and Ginny, and we'll be out of here soon enough." Bill Weasley was, by all means, furious. From the red mottle staining his cheeks to the heated glint in his sharp blue eyes, it was obvious that he was far from pleased. If those weren't signs enough, the frightening look on his face was enough to make even the dullest person take a hasty departure away from the small table tucked in the back of the Leaky Cauldron. And for once, Annabelle was thankful that someone around her was livid.

At eight in the morning she had trotted downstairs expecting nothing more than a quiet breakfast with her impromptu guardian of the day, but what she had discovered once she hit the bottom step was, in fact, quite the opposite. Instead of the sparse few customers that had dotted the tables in the wee hours, the Leaky Cauldron was bursting with life. All kinds of witches and wizards and creatures she suspected weren't even human filled every square inch of the floor. And as was her luck, every single person immediately seemed to know exactly who she was.

The minute she had been spotted, the tavern seemed to erupt in chaos, with people shoving each other out of the way to get a good look at her and point, like she was some sideshow attraction at a carnival. It had been downright terrifying and she just stood there frozen like a deer in the headlights, until Bill came charging through and scattered the crowd with a few sharp curses, but curses couldn't stave off the whispers. They were everywhere - everyone seeming to have an opinion about her. They talked about her long dead parents, her Aunt and her Uncle, the way she dressed and how she had grown: if there was some subject that hadn't been touched on, she couldn't think of one.

It was probably the least pleasant experience in her short life, and her guardian seemed to be incredibly aware of that fact as he watched her sit as stiff as board in her seat. Annabelle hadn't moved in twenty minutes, her eyes flicking nervously from person to person with her freckles growing more vivid by the second. Her plate waited untouched in front of her, and a fork hung loose between her fingers, with the prongs dipping into a cold bit of egg. She knew she would be hungry if she didn't eat, but the meal just looked incredibly unappealing when her name was buzzing around like a fly caught in a glass.

"Annabelle, why don't we leave a bit early? I'll have Tom send Mum after us and we'll head to the bank to pick up your funds. Would you like that?" She would have liked anything if it didn't involve sitting in this mess for another minute longer, but she didn't say that. Instead she slowly nodded, large eyes turning to her keeper. Bill gave her a brief smile and pushed back his chair to stand. "Alright then, wait right here and I'll be back before you know it. If anyone bothers you, you just shout and I'll come get you quick as I can." He took off, boots clomping over the worn floor in the direction of the bar leaving her staring at her plate with a queasy feeling her in her stomach.

It didn't take long before a gangly boy in his teens noticed that she was alone. The boy started edging closer with an eager look on his pimply face, but before he could say anything a dark shadow fell over the youth.

"It would be a shame to begin your detentions early this year, Mister Green." A cold, chilled voice stopped the boy dead in his tracks. The boy's head slowly moved upwards, his eyes fixing on a thin, pale man with dark, oil slicked hair and an expression that would have given the bravest something to think about. The stranger's eyes narrowed to glittering slits when the boy did nothing, glowering down his hooked nose until the younger man took the hint and bolted with his robes flapping behind him. Annabelle was relieved for a full second before her unexpected savior turned his cold look on her.

"Sir..?" She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, wondering if he was going to say anything.

"What is it Potter?"

"Is everyone going to be like this?" It was the first question that popped into her mind, though she didn't really mean to ask anything at all. The man simply stared at her, and for a while she thought he might not answer.

"Unfortunately." He finally snapped. Annabelle flinched, her fingers curling in the fabric of her sundress. Another minute passed, but the stranger didn't move so she searched for another question.

"Everyone keeps talking about some school like I'm supposed to be there, do you know anything about it?" She was almost positive that the man rolled his eyes, but she couldn't be certain since he was scowling out at the crowd.

"You are required to attend Hogwarts for the next six years to begin your magical education. It is standard for all young witches and wizards to attend a magical institution. You'll be sorted into one of four Houses at the start of your first year."

"Houses?" She repeated.

"Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor, they represent the four founders of Hogwarts. Each House has its own dormitories and requirements to enter, if you are anything like your parents you will be sorted into Gryffindor." Well that sounded…awful.

"I don't think I'd like that very much. Aunt Petunia says I've already got a streak for trouble making like my father did, and he got himself and my mum killed for it. I don't think I want to be like him, or wind up like her." Annabelle had never been told the details of her parents' death, but what she did know was that if her mother had never of met James Potter, she would have still been alive. The only concession her Aunt ever gave her father was that he had loved her mother to the moon and stars from the day he caught her eye in their old school. The very same school the wizards she kept bumping into were determined to send her off to.

"If the man who killed your parents had not been stopped that night, your mother would have met the same fate in the end, Potter. She was a muggleborn." There was a stony expression covering the man's face when he spoke. "When you were born, those without a history of pure, magical blood in their family were terrorized by the Dark Lord. There are still many pureblood families that look down on muggleborns; the Weasley's are one of the exceptions." The more she heard about the wizarding world the less she liked it.

"Is everything bad to wizards? What's the point of even having magic if every time you turn around there's some new group of people who think everything about you is horrible? First it was bad that muggles are raising magical children, then it was bad that children even _have_ magic, then there was the whole bit about talking to snakes, and now you tell me that people here have a problem simply because someone was _born_? How can someone stop from being born? It's not like they can just stop existing because someone doesn't like it. Everything here is just…backwards. I think muggles have it better than anyone, at least they're _trying_ to get along."

"Annabelle? What's going on here?" Bill Weasley hesitated at the edge of the table with Isis slung over a shoulder and his eyes flicking between the girl and the man in the black robes. He had stepped out of the crowd halfway through Annabelle's rant and had watched with an increasingly worried expression as the little girl half shouted at her chilled potatoes.

"I want to go home!" The roaring was coming back, the familiar omen that always seemed to start right before something magical happened around her.

"We can't do that just yet, but we can go get your school supplies. Why don't we-" The little girl spun on him in a whirl of fiery red curls.

"I don't want to get school supplies, I don't want to go to some strange school, and I don't. Want. To be. A WITCH!" The sound filling her head grew to deafening proportions and was only getting louder while more and more people to turned to stare at her. It was the last straw. She had had enough of these people and their whispering and pointing and making her miserable in general. "STOP STARING AT ME!" For a moment there was a thunderous, swelling silence, and then there was a tremendous _BOOM._

_Everything_ exploded all at once, sending shards of the room flying everywhere in a massive hailstorm of debris. People screamed and spells flew everywhere as people tried to ward off bits of jagged glass and wood spinning dangerously close. More people scattered onto the scene, some just magically appearing, others running down the stairs and tripping over their night clothes; all of them brandishing wands, with grim looks about them. One man - a tall, dark skinned wizard with piercings dangling out of his ears - pointed his wand at the whole mess and roared something she couldn't quite catch.

The room instantly went still, bits and pieces of wood and food still hovering midair. He gave another command and flicked his wand and in the blink of an eye everything went back to normal as if nothing had happened at all. And it seemed that when the room fell quiet, every single eye in the Leaky Cauldron swiveled to her.

"_Annabelle Rose Potter!_ Have you lost your bloody mind?! Do you have any idea what you could have done? What on earth were you thinking?!" Bill snatched her by the arms in a bruising grip before she could get away and shook her with such a frightening look on his face that Annabelle felt her own go cold. "You could have hurt someone! Or worse! Gotten someone killed!" He yelled loud enough to make her ears pop painfully in her skull. "I'm just about done with this childish behavior out of you! This is the last time, you hear?"

"I _am_ a child you stupid git!" Annabelle screamed right back at him, heedless of the punishment she knew was going to come for arguing with an adult. "And _you're_ the ones who are supposed to be the adults around here, not little kids at a zoo pointing and gawking at me like I'm on display! Or shouting in the hallway about how terrible my family is for an _accident_! Or treating me like a freak because I can talk to snakes! And let me go! You're hurting me!" Isis tensed on the man's shoulder, her tongue flicking out beside the fang dangling from his ear.

"Until you calm down I won't be letting go of anything, young lady! This is no way to act under any circumstances!" His face was turning a curious shade of red.

_"Thisss one hurtsss you?" _Isis' coils were constricting around the man's bicep, her eyes flashing dangerously. Suddenly, the great snake struck, snapping and hissing at the Weasley man like a bolt of lightning at his hands. Bill cursed and flung the furious serpent across the room, backpedaling away from the girl when it landed a few feet away. Isis hissed even louder and charged.

_"ISIS! No!" _The snake froze, her angular head twisting to look at Annabelle. _"He let go of me, please leave him alone." _Bill was looking back and forth between the girl and the snake, not understanding a word of what was going on, but when Isis relaxed and slipped her way back to her owner, he let out a breath. Her friend however, was not so easily satisfied, her lethal gaze never leaving him for a moment once she had found a comfortable spot around Annabelle's neck.

_"If he hurtss again, I will eat him like a fat rat." _The warning didn't need translation as Isis bared her fangs in the man's direction. Yet Annabelle couldn't be entirely condescending of her companion's behavior as not a single stare was aimed at her for the first time since she had come down the stairs earlier in the morning.

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><p>Bill Weasley did not speak to her for the rest of the morning. They did not leave like he said before, and when the Weasley clan came through a green-fired chimney a half-hour later, he did not introduce her or make her go shopping. In fact, he had barely even looked at her since their argument. Instead, he went about his business as if she didn't exist, allowing her to go up to her room or sit on the bottom of the stairs just out of sight from the other patrons whenever she pleased. It didn't take her long to realize that he wasn't the only one either, <em>no one<em> was looking at her.

There were only three people in the entire building that acknowledged her at all. The first, naturally, was Tom the barkeep. The aging bent backed man had sidled up to her room twice to bring her another breakfast and a small lunch and always seemed to have an eye on her when she made her way downstairs. His attitude was friendly, just as it had been the night before, which was the complete opposite of the next wizard who watched her. Standing still as a stone and rather resembling a large, angry bat, the man in black with the beaked nose watched her with an intensity that sent her fleeing back up the stairs after too long.

Annabelle had a feeling that he was only there because he was worried she might cause more trouble. The way he scowled at her indicated he had no interest in her well-being or anything of the sort. Of course, he didn't appear to be the friendliest type in the first place. Even Tom gave the stranger a wide berth. Only the third and final man on her list didn't appear to be bothered by the second's presence, and that was probably because he was rather intimidating himself.

It was the wizard who had put an end to her magical mischief on the main floor, the tall, dark skinned wizard with the deep, booming voice. He was incredibly hard to miss since he towered above everyone else and he was rather well built, of course that might have just come with his stature. She didn't know who he was, of course she really didn't know who anyone was, but Bill seemed to and the pair had been in deep conversation nearly the entire time that the red haired man had been ignoring her. She wasn't entirely certain of how he did it, but he always seemed to know exactly where she was at any given point in time and was always half turned so that he could have a clear view of her when she arrived on the steps.

When she had tried hiding by staying up against the wall, she had found out that he had moved down the bar in a nonchalant manner and was staring dead on at her as if he knew exactly what she was doing. Annabelle had glared back at him of course, but that had only earned her the full weight of three stares from him, Tom, and the pale wizard in the corner. It had been rather disconcerting, enough to send her hurrying back up to her room where she had stayed for the past hour staring at the ceiling. Honestly, she half expected them all to leave her there until she grew old or something just as dramatic, so it was quite the surprise when the endless boredom of counting the beams in the ceiling was broken by a sharp knock on the worn door.

"Annabelle, it's time to go. We have to go get your things from Diagon Alley." It was Bill, the last person she wanted to talk to. She didn't move, her gaze flicking back up to the rafters hoping he would go away, but her luck seemed to be growing more and more rotten as of late. "Annabelle, I know you can hear me. If you aren't downstairs and ready to leave in five minutes I'm sending my Mum up to get you, and you don't want to tangle with her, she's had _seven_ kids even more stubborn than you are to put up with." An image of the ringleader of the Weasley horde flashed through her mind, the short, round woman with the rosy cheeks and the sharp tongue herding her children through the tavern with practiced glares and threats of something called de-gnoming.

She knew immediately that the woman would, and could, drag her out by her ears if she had a mind to do it. Aunt Petunia was the same way, and nobody messed with Aunt Petunia unless they wanted their ears boxed. Annabelle grumbled under her breath, but she got up anyways and rolled off of the bed so she could slip her shoes back on. She lifted Isis from her spot on the bed and hung her about her neck, which seemed to be her favorite place now, and trudged towards the door muttering to herself. Bill waited on the other side with his arms crossed over his chest and the usual disapproving crease in his brow. Two other men stood off to the side, one she didn't recognize and the other the third man from downstairs.

The newcomer looked strikingly like Bill, but shorter and stockier with his bright red hair clipped short instead of long and tied back. He had several small, shiny burns on his arms, which also happened to be crossed, and a curious expression on his face as they regarded each other. It seemed that he came to a decision about her because he gave her a quick, small grin and a wink behind Bill's back. She didn't smile back, a little more cautious towards all the magical folk she had been meeting and their strange behaviors.

"Annabelle, this is my brother Charlie and the Auror Dad mentioned last night, Kingsley Shacklebolt." All at once she perked up, staring at the one called Shacklebolt with a newfound interest. If she had heard right last night, _this_ was the man who was supposed to take her home. Any hopes she had were quickly dashed when Bill spoke up again. "They aren't here to take you home. There was a problem with your Aunt and Uncle and they had to go see a he-... a doctor. Mister Shacklebolt is going to stay with us until the Ministry sends for you to go back to your guardians." The momentary happiness sputtered out and left her as quickly as it had come.

"Why do I have to go shopping? I don't need any more magical things except for my Aunt and Uncle to get fixed." She settled a bitter glare on the long haired brother, not pleased with the situation one bit.

"You need your school supplies, we already went over this." The long haired brother sighed.

"I don't want anything to do with magic except for Isis." Magic was the source of all of her problems anyways. Right up until she had stumbled into that awful pet shop she had been a perfectly normal little girl with perfectly normal worries. Her biggest fear was getting a bad grade or a long grounding for misbehaving before she had magic; now she had to worry about blowing up buildings by accident.

"It's not a choice, Annabelle. You're a witch, you have to learn how to control your magic and use it before you have more accidents. Every witch and wizard all over the world has to go to school, even your Aunt agreed that Hogwarts is a place you need to be." Bill was rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb while the two other wizards watched the exchange in silence.

"I hate magic, and I don't like witches or wizards that much either. I'm not going." He was growing more irritated by the minute, and little Annabelle could see it as clear as day.

"You can't just wish it away. You _are_ a witch and you _are_ going to school, and if you don't wrap your head around that fact and start making some effort towards cooperating, this day is just going to be harder for everyone - including you."

"If my mum hadn't went off and learned magic, she'd still be alive, not that you would even care. _Your_ kind didn't have to worry about those kinds of things because your family are purebloods. You're supposed to have magic." All three men went very, very still and Bill and Charlie had gone incredibly pale. Suddenly, Annabelle wasn't as sure of herself as she had been just seconds ago.

"Did your Aunt tell you that?" Shacklebolt had straightened up to his full, imposing height and was staring at her in a manner that chilled her to the bone. She didn't expect what she had blurted out to get that kind of reaction, yet it was certainly not what she had intended.

"No, my Aunt said it was my father's fault Mum got killed. The man downstairs with the hook nose told me it wasn't anybody's fault since she was a muggleborn and would have died anyways." The expressions on their faces immediately turned thunderous.

"Annabelle, I want you to listen to me very carefully. That man, Professor Snape, is a former Death Eater, a person who joined a following supporting the wizard who killed your parents. What he said was a deliberate lie and cruel nonetheless. Magic had _nothing_ to do with your mother _or_ your father being murdered. It had everything to do with a small group of witches and wizards who were terrorizing our community _regardless_ of their blood status. Magic is neither inherently bad nor good - people are - and sending you off to school is just another way for you to learn how to keep yourself, and others, safe from those bad characters or from turning into one yourself by accident. You saw what happened downstairs, just imagine if it happened again, but around your Aunt or Uncle, muggles without magic to protect themselves." Annabelle went pale, feeling very small even though Bill spoke in a shockingly soft tone.

"Now I don't want you talking to the Professor alone ever again, even when you go off to school. You'll be in the same year as my brother Ron, and Fred and George and Percy will be there too, you just stick close to them when you start your term. And while you're here, you stay with me, or Charlie, or Mister Shacklebolt, do you understand?" She nodded, her eyes dropping to the floor.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled softly. The grim lines around Bill's mouth faded slightly and lightened into a smile that seemed more suited to his face.

"I'll forgive you this time, but the next I expect you to have put a little more thought in before you go off setting the building on people…or snakes for that matter." He glared at the snake, who looked back entirely unrepentant in any fashion.

"I didn't set her on you, she was mad because you gave me bruises. She's still very upset at you about it too." His eyes flicked down to her arms where, surely enough, fat, purpling marks had bloomed just below the straps on her dress.

"Do you think she'd forgive me if I made those bruises disappear?" Annabelle looked at her friend expectantly at the question. Isis narrowed her eyes, scales undulating in quiet thought before she hissed out a slow answer.

_"Yess." _

"She said yes." Bill smiled and pulled out his wand. He pointed it at each bruise and flicked the tip with a practiced motion and after a slight tingle, the marks vanished. Annabelle's eyes grew to the size of tennis balls. "Can you do that on my scar? Make it go away like that?" She pushed up the ringlets that had been cut to hide the awful mark and pointed at it somewhat eagerly, yet Bill just shook his head.

"I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than that, love. That scar was made by dark magic, and dark arts are very difficult to undo even for witches and wizards. I'm afraid you'll get a lot of attention for that mark in our world." A pout worked its way onto her face unbidden, it was something she rarely did and it almost felt funny on her own face.

"I get enough attention for it from muggles, like that fat pig Simon Grunnings always pulling my hair and calling me names. He doesn't poke at my scar anymore though, I put a stop to that last year with pepper powder in his trousers." She looked up at Bill, a thought occurring to her that hadn't before; a very wondrous thought that stopped her fuming cold and brought a very impish grin to her face. "I bet there are all sorts of spells and such for pulling a good joke on someone…and potions…I think he'd look good in feathers… purple, definitely purple."

"Are you ready to go, Bill? If we stay here much longer all the shops will close!" For the first time all day she found herself particularly excited to go see the wizarding shops - albeit, perhaps, a little too excited. The three wizards shook their heads, pondering just how much trouble the little girl would get into once she was set loose in Hogwarts.

"I think she might give Fred and George a run for their money this year."

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><p><strong>END AN: **Special shout out to my editor Jim Jimmy JimJim! You're awesome! Please comment and review!


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